


Of Hexes, Angry Tears, and Ruined Shirts

by tambrathegreat



Series: Dramione Drabbles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambrathegreat/pseuds/tambrathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's thoughts on a not so very spoken for Hermione.  The prequel to my other Dramione drabble.  No Weasleys were hurt in the making of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money from this endeavor.

AN: This story is a little bit of a prequel to my last drabble. You don’t have to read it to understand this one.

He knew when Granger was having a bad day. She’d walk into their tiny office, slamming bits of work around, glaring poisonously at her quill for a while. Draco would wait to wheedle a little smile out of her by paying her some outrageous compliment or by having a perfectly prepared cuppa on the desk next to her . Usually it worked after about an hour of huffy silence, and they could get on with their work in a more relaxed atmosphere. He liked that about her. She was uncomplicated when it came to emotions. _Well,_ he ammended, _as uncomplicated as woman could be._

On days when she would come in agitated, he would once again thank all his lucky stars that he had finally divorced his wife. Astoria was as cold as Granger appeared to be passionate. He had full custody of their son because the woman couldn’t be arsed to even care for him. Was it any wonder that he’d sought others beds while he was married to her?

He glanced at the door, waiting for Granger to enter it, reflecting on the hash he had made of his personal life. He wasn’t the playboy the society pages made him out to be, but he also wasn’t celibate… or at least hadn’t been until he’d started working with Granger a month ago. She made him want to be a better man. Without a word, she’d made him wish his choices of entertainment hadn’t been as wild or as public as they were. He was, in a word, in love with Granger— the very monogamous, very in love with the Weasel, Granger.

After a few moments of reflection, where he stared blindly at the brief he’d picked up when he entered the office, he heard the knob on the door rattle signalling the end to his moments of longing and despair. He waited for Granger’s mood to make an entrance. Lately, she’d been strangely preoccupied, almost absent. He knew it would take time for her to reveal what was bothering her, but she would, her emotional transparency being what it was.

The door opened slowly and Granger slipped in, her head down, her movements uncharacteristically imprecise. She didn’t acknowledge Draco, something she always did, even on her worst days, and worry spiked through him. When she did glance up to see him, her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy with obviously unshed tears.

For once in his life, his Pureblood manners failed him. Women in his circles did not do something as vulgar as being close to shedding tears. He ducked his head, flustered and wanting to do something to make it all better, but unable to. He just didn’t know how to comfort anyone.

They worked in silence for an hour, the silence of the room punctuated by soft sniffles coming from Granger’s desk. Draco in turn once again stared at the same document he had been unable to focus on before. Each sniffle, each little sound from her ratcheted up the tension that ran up the long muscles in his back and into his neck. He’d have a headache before the end of the day. 

He finally broke when she gave a gulping sob followed by several hiccoughs of wet noise. He rose, strode across they tiny space to her and took her in his arms. Even as she sobbed against his chest, making a wet spot of a mixture of effluvia, she felt right there. He had known she would, even is she was with the useless ginger. He finally said, “Let’s skive off today. You obviously need and ear…”

And he wanted to be the one who was there for her, good or bad. She nodded and that was all it took to gather his discarded outer robes with a silent _Accio._

He was conscious of the stares they received as they made their way out of the bowels of the Ministry. He knew she was in no state to be anywhere in public, and the only place he could think of was probably not the best place for her to be right now, not the Manor, he could never take her there. He wracked his memory for any of the unused Malfoy properties, finally settling upon a little love nest his father had set up for his only mistress, he had given her up when he married mother, so it wasn’t tainted for Draco. He pulled a small bag of floo powder out of his pocket even while he held her against him, and said quietly, “The Kensington flat.” 

They stepped through. There was dropcloth covered furniture and a few bottles gleaming dully on a bar in the back of the room. A thick layer of dust covered the ornate wooden floor, evidence that the house elves weren’t even aware of this property. Granger moved out of the shelter of his arms and said, “Thank you, Malfoy for not being a prat. I was just so _angry_. Falling in love is hard.”

His heart seemed to stutter in his chest. Talking of love with Granger might lead to embarrassing admissions from him. He remained mute, feeling like a pinned insect as she said, “He’s been having an affair for the last six months. I caught them this morning when…” her face crumpled, her fist clenched. A tear slid down her face, “I saw them together because I forgot some research. I hexed them both. They won’t be using _my_ bed for anything for a while.”

She said the last bit with a malicious glee. Draco was relieved, _malice_ was an emotion he could handle. She added, “Sorry about the emotional outburst. I was just so… _furious_ with him and so powerless…” after a moment’s consideration of the wet spot she’d made on his shirt, she said, “I’m sorry about the mess I made of your shirt. I…cry when I get too angry. I always have.”

Her chin wobbled and she took a deep breath as color bloomed on her cheeks becomingly. Draco finally answered, a small wisp of hope curled in him. Maybe he wouldn’t turn out to be some modern-day replica of Snape, with his unrequited love of a Muggleborn Gryffindor and such rot, “If falling in love is hard, then falling in betrayal is worse.”

He took her hand in his, loving the feel of her, even if it was too soon to act on his feelings. “ I see some very expensive forty-year-old firewhisky on the bar. Let’s drink to hexes, and angry tears… and ruined shirts.”

A giggle erupted from her almost as if it was pulled involuntarily from her lips. She followed him to the bar, a small smile now gracing her face.

Draco knew right then that he would have her, no matter what. He _was_ a Malfoy after all.


	2. Continuation

It had been several hours since they had skived off work. Several hours of drinking meant that they were on the third half-full bottle, poured from the elegant crystal decanters they had been stored in the last time Lucius had used this flat, two years before he married Narcissa. A shoeless Granger sat with her legs up on the antique, robin’s egg blue and peach striped, silk divan, a gaudy remnant of some eighteenth century Malfoy’s decor. The couch complemented the various bucolic and strangely lewd images that adorned both the walls and the frescoes on the ceiling. If Draco hadn’t had more than a passing interest in art, he would have thought that his long-ago Malfoy predecessor was perhaps a bit barmy over milkmaids. Since he did have a firm grasp of the art of period, he merely thought the aforementioned Malfoy had terrible taste. Even as porn, the motif left much to be desired. Satyrs most certainly weren’t as well endowed as depicted. 

Draco was turned towards Granger, one of his legs crooked over his knee, his shoes now also discarded.. Their footprints had disturbed the dust on the floor and the motes danced on the light coming through the heavy Italian silk curtains. 

As Draco peered at her, Granger looked owlishly at him through the crystal tumbler she held. “You’re not at all what I espected, Malfoy… Draco Malfoy… Malfoy for short.”  
Draco hid a smile behind . He hadn’t expected Granger to be such a lightweight. “How so?”

“Well, when you firsht shtarted this pojhect wi’ me,” Granger took a sip and smacked her lips. “I thought you’d be more of a prat. More of a… bigot.”

Draco took sipped from his tumbler, suddenly a little angry with Granger for her candour. He’d done more than enough to reform his image after the war. She knew what had come out during his trial, how he’d been all but forced to take the damned Mark. _Oh damn, she was still talking._

“… but you’d shanged… schanged…” she hiccoughed and then giggled, “Chaaaa-aaaanged… and I ended up being the prat to you.”

“You weren’t…” he started.

She continued over his words,”I’m shorry, Draco Malfoy, Malfoy, Draco… Draaaaa-aaacooooo. You’re not shuch a prat… well, you are, but only because you shleep wif’ everyone.”

He looked away, suddenly ashamed of his past _bon vivant_. He had spent many years, some of them whilst he was married, playing the part of the dissolute aristocrat. The image had suited him at the time, and it had served as cover for the work he had been required to do with the Auror’s office as part of his parole. After his cover was no longer necessary, he’d needed a break from the loneliness and fear after the war and during the sterile marriage to Astoria. The loneliness was so complete he had felt it threatened to consume him. He’d used sex as a way to connect to another human, no matter how fleeting the effect was. 

He didn’t know how to answer Granger. The half-truths of the _Daily Prophet_ were based on more than a few very indiscreet affairs he had engineered to be ferreted out. After several moments of uncomfortably endured silence, he chanced a look at her. She had slid further down the couch, her abominable hair flipping out the hair pins that kept it in a tight twist at the base of her neck. He rose on his knees and took the tumbler from her relaxing fingers. He sat it on the floor beside her. She mumbled, “I know that everything happens for a reason,Malfoy, but sometimes, I wish I knew what that reason was… Maybe… mebbe…s’you, Draco Malfoy… mebbe…you’re t’reason…” 

The rest of her sentence was unintelligible. Draco could only hope that she had noticed him as much as he noticed her. Granger had made the loneliness and fear seem manageable.


End file.
